She was alert now, climbing from her skinny ass up onto her feet.
His hand struck my face, giving me a better look at Wynter as my head soared in her direction.
Her expression was almost apologetic, the work of a great actress. Her poetic performance kept me distracted from her husband.
Pain ricocheted through my body, as Ville’s foot made contact with my stomach.
I couldn’t stop this scream. His boot bruised and bent three of my knuckles as they uselessly tried to protect my bump.
Woody was panicking, shaking, and trying to talk, but his sound was warped. He shook his head causing himself more pain and further injuries.
Ville’s boot hit me again and again and again. My arms went wild, pushing his feet away to defend my baby and the body it lived inside.
I tucked up my good leg, creating a barrier,and I even pulled a trash bag in front of me.
The bag exploded on the next impact, the dirty waste covering my already filthy body.
My stomach cramped when my defenses failed against another kick. I tried again to stop the next one, but I only slowed him down. He hit my thumb, causing pain to the joint before his steel toe blasted my stomach.
I stared down at the fluid appearing between my legs. I blinked a few times, taking in what I was seeing—red-tinged water spilling from me.
My breath caught in my throat, and like the boy on the floor, staring at me with a tearstained face, I couldn’t breathe.
My hands covered my stomach completely, but it was too late to protect my baby. My stomach cramped, and I could feel it getting harder beneath my spread fingers.
The tears I held back flooded from my eyes. I tried to control my breathing as my panic took over.
Woody couldn't help me. He had no idea how. But he wanted to. He was reaching for me, rubbing my toes with one hand and his throat with the other.
Ville stepped back, but only enough to give Wynter room to see his giant boot deliver what was probably the one-hundredth blow to my hands and stomach.
I screamed, and I didn't stop screaming as the tightening feeling came again.
“She's in labor.” Wynter's expression was blank. Her words cold.
I looked across to her, searching in all the wrong places for sympathy. “It's too early, and I'm bleeding. I need a doctor.” I didn’t know who to look at.
No one responded.
Ville moved to the cupboard, pulling out the remains of alcohol that he hadn’t finished last night. He swigged the clear liquid from the slender bottle. His ass, flattened against cupboard doors, caused them to groan in pain.
And I groaned, too.
I calmed my breathing, or at least, I tried to, focusingon Woody, and he followed my approach.
“Your grandchild needs a doctor!” I screamed at Wynter through my pain.
But she said nothing, did nothing for me. She moved to a different part of the kitchen, where her bony fingers pulled at some kitchen roll to wipe her bleeding nose.
I twinged again.
I thought labor was a slow process, but this was fast and terrifying.
My stomach tightened. My head reared back, crashing into the wall.
I opened my legs wider, feeling pressure move down my stomach. A force in the front and back of my body.
My eyes closed, opening to the feel of a gentle hand brushing the hair from my sweaty face. Woodrow was at my side, his handsome face flushed, confused, and so fucking scared. He mirrored me. His other hand settled on my stomach, his fingers weaving through mine.
